


The Worlds Inside Us

by RiskPig



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskPig/pseuds/RiskPig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean jump through a portal that take them to the Enchanted Forest. The Dark One captures them, and he promises to let them go if they pay him a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Journey

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to hold off on this until I finished The Duke, but I've been having trouble writing that lately. And I wanted to finish The Duke before OUAT Season 3, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen, hahaha.  
> Anyways, enjoy! I can't promise consistency in chapter length, but I hope I keep you guys interested. :D

Sam and Dean kept watch as janitors at the local hospital. With a couple of blunt objects and an out-of-the-way broom closet, the brothers managed to replace the evening’s staff.

About sixty children had gone missing this week alone, the largest concentration coming from the hospital.

They mopped in unison through the children’s ward, moving slowly to avoid missing any disturbance. Sam spent all day researching, but could not find anything concrete - only theories. Dean did not like that one bit, and tried to pack as heavy as possible. The trusty Impala, parked outside, carried the main load of weapons, but pistols had been tucked down the boys’ jumpsuits, knives and salt lining the seams.

Sam peeked into the rooms, his heart clenching at the sight of kids hooked up to machines, most needing assistance to breathe. Out of all their hunts, these he hated the most. The depth of evil it took to prey on kids...

Footsteps.

Dean grabbed his brother’s arm, rushing them to a corner away from the source. Guns at the ready, they waited, tensing as the steps grew louder.

A short, thin man appeared, in red tights and tunic, a matching long cap adorning his head. From a leather satchel at his hip, he pulled out a long silver flute.

A low, gentle note echoed throughout the ward. The sound sustained, and the children could be heard yawning, and climbing out of their beds. Bewildered, the brothers watched as the children gathered in the hall, queuing up neatly behind the flutist. The song lifted in tempo, and their leader skipped out of the hall, his charges following in kind.

Sam and Dean took the back exit, racing to cut off their prey in the parking lot, their pistols aimed for a head-shot.

“Just a minute there, Zelda,” said Dean, tightening his grip. He had never seen a demon take simple means before. The kids seemed alright, not one of them harmed or having trouble moving.

“Link, dude,” said Sam. “Zelda was the princess.”

“Whatever.”

The man just smiled, and blew a single note from the flute. The children linked hands, circling him, the perfect protection.

“Bastard,” Dean hissed, but did not lower his gun. Sam watched the flutist’s left hand dig into the satchel as the other held on to the flute, still playing for control.

Something small, clear - a marble? - rested in his palm. Rolling it between his fingers, he delighted in their fear, drawing out the moment before doing whatever he planned to do.

Finally, he threw it over his shoulder.

They felt a tremor, and then a wide green vortex split the ground. Sam’s eyes widened in horror as he saw them all jump in. Before he could think, he took hold of Dean, and dived.

* * *

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? They had come through the portal, and ended up in some forest. Sam, unconscious from the fall, had curled up by a rock, and Dean, mildly injured but awake, kept vigil. The kids and the creep-o in tights had vanished without a trace, and Dean did not want to search for them until he knew his brother was going to be alright.

Big mistake.

Not too long after Dean woke up, there was purple smoke, and they were dropped in a dungeon. He heard a high-pitched giggle, and then chains appeared out of nowhere to string them up like sides of beef. After that, nothing.

It was still night, wherever they were. Dean would have guessed Hell, but, despite their being in a dungeon, he did not feel misery or impending doom. Just sore muscles and worry for his little brother.

Night passed, and Sam did not wake up, but he babbled in his sleep. The morning sun creeped through a window just above their heads, casting everything in a dreary glow, and the room grew cold. For a while, Dean entertained himself with a little song...

_Someone told me long ago_

_There’s a calm before the storm_

_I know_

_It’s been comin’ for some time..._

“You are tone-deaf, dearie.”

The chains tightened, and yanked at his wrists. His eyes flit about, searching for the voice.

This was not what he expected.

A short, thin... scaly son of a bitch lurked in the doorway, decked out in feathers and tight leather. He giggled, snapped his fingers, and the chains lowered, bringing him closer to the demon (?). The creature grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks together.

“Oh,” it sighed, “I’ve been looking for you...”

And then something sharp and burning sliced his stomach.


	2. Spaceman

Dean was in agony, but he had endured much worse. His captor ran through him with chains, knives, and the occasional fire poker, healing him after every assault. And he asked the same damn question over and over.

_Where are the beans?_

Dean didn't know a damn thing about any damn beans, and he told the damn guy as much. But with every polite request to go to hell, the demon came back harder, with sharper, more annoying objects. Dean didn’t mind, as long as Sammy was left alone. So far, the demon only made his brother watch, pinned to the wall and his head held in place by an invisible force. No one screamed or shouted, just a few groans from Dean, and crazy giggles from the aggressor.

“Maybe I’ve taken the wrong tack.” Scaly McSadist snapped his fingers, and Sammy dropped, face first. Instantly, Dean knew his intentions, and tried his best not to panic.

“You leave him alone,” he hissed through his teeth. “You back the hell off. We don’t have anything to do with anything.”

“On the contrary, dearie. _You_ came through the portal, _you_ have the beans.”

“Dude,” Sam interrupted, “we don’t know anything about any beans! That wasn’t our portal, we followed someone through it.”

In a blink, the demon flashed across the room, gripping Sammy’s neck, tightly. Dean tried to call out, but he could not control his tongue.

“You’re lying...” Rumpelstiltskin’s claws dug into the tender flesh, and the whelp thrashed, struggling to fight him off with feeble punches. “I have had enough of this; we are going to play a new game. Now, I’m going to let you breathe in a second, and you’re going to say two sentences. The first; you tell me where they are. And the second; you beg me to take them off your hands.

“Do you understand the rules? Good, let’s begin.”

He relieved a smidgen of pressure, and after a little sputtering, he could feel the denial coursing through the boy’s veins. But he could also detect something else, angry and violent, a kinship calling out to the darkness that resided in him...

“What...” He smelled his captive, breathing deeply. Something was definitely off. Tainted, more like. With his senses heightened, more in focus, he detected something strange coming off the other boy as well. Not as menacing, but a threat nonetheless. Inspecting the first one again, more thoroughly, he recoiled from the pure evil that corroded the soul, inside and out. What in the world had he brought into his castle?

The older one, the one reeking of fairy magic, crawled, reaching for one of the daggers. But Rumpelstiltskin flashed them to his laboratory before his fingers could touch the hilt.

The boys were hurled onto a table, cables slithering from underneath to hold them down. Speaking to them over his shoulder, Rumpelstiltskin hurried to prepare a concoction to bring a few answers to light.

“Sorry, we have moved on to a new game, dearies. I call it ‘Drink this, and I might let you live.’”

* * *

Dean choked on the nasty juice shoved down his throat, Sam taking it just as well. The stuff  tasted like recycled garbage water and blueberries. He waited for whatever poison he swallowed to work its magic, but he didn’t feel anything beyond the aches and bruising. And Sammy seemed fine at a glance, just looking around the room - a dusty library and some fancy chemistry sets. Everything he had seen of this place so far came straight from a damn monster movie: old bookshelves, bronze candlesticks, and a few cobwebs tossed around for ambiance. He flashed back to the last time they were held hostage by a nut with similar tastes, but that didn’t add up here.

His trail of thought was cut short by warmth spreading through his hands and feet. Everything turned blue for a second, and a taloned hand returned to his throat.

“Just as I thought,” said the demon. “You have been touched by fairies.” The grip turned murderous, yanking him out of his restraints, and positioning him to kneel.

“Explain yourself, or I kill your friend.”

Dean had had enough, but every time he tried to defend himself, he had been thrown or kept immobile. Hopefully, a good chat would buy them time while he tried to think of a way to get them out of this castle alive.

“It’s like we told you,” Dean said, gasping, “we followed someone here. Some fruit in tights has been kidnapping kids from our - our wor... where the hell even are we?”

“I will be asking the questions, dearie. Tell me more about the fruit.”

“Well, he played a flute, and the kids lined up like the goddamn Von Trapps. He made a hole in the ground, jumped in, and we followed.”

“Why is that?”

“To save the kids. Hunting and killing monsters is what we do. Speaking of which, I’m going to gank you the second I get the chance...”

The demon laughed at that, that high pitched giggle grating his ears. Upon a swift heel turn, Dean was left on the floor, ignored or forgotten. Hands deftly juggled multiple vials, mixing them amongst each other, that irritating giggle chiming low throughout the room. Soon, the workbench was obscured by a purple fog, odorless, but Dean found himself alert the moment he breathed it in. Then the demon snapped his fingers, and the fog vanished, revealing a crystal orb in the golden, scaly hand. Letting the ball glide around his hand, he released Sam with another finger snap.

His brother rolled onto the floor, legs shaky, but not much worse. Without looking at them, they were waved to sit in a pair of armchairs summoned to the room.

As their captor amused himself with the ball, scratching notes with quill and parchment - fucking parchment! - the boys tried to plan their escape via eye contact and vague hand gestures.

“I’ll tell you what, dearies,” Rumpelstiltskin turned to face them. “Should you want to live, I will make you a deal.”

* * *

Sam did not like the sound of that, but did not see the harm in hearing him out, loathe as he was to work with something so manic and bipolar. One minute they’re being tortured, and the next, tea cups were magically placed in their hands like guests.

“‘Hunting’ is your business, you say? Fortunately, for you, I have need of your services. One of my possessions has been stolen, and you two will fetch it for me.”

Sam watched his brother in his periphery, waiting to make a move.

“I need you two to visit the Goblin City, and retrieve it. Upon delivery, with my merchandise intact, mind you, I will release you to the wild. Free to stumble around in the forest to, er, ‘gank’ all to your hearts’ content!”

Sam cleared his throat to grab the demon’s attention; he hoped to keep him distracted as he noticed Dean subtly creeping a hand into his pocket. They were not searched, or stripped of their weapons when they were captured, having immediately been chained up, and did not have the opportunity to attack. That gave him hope that hindsight could help them overtake the guy easily.

“Why should we trust you?” he asked.

“Because that’s what I do. Deals are my vocation; I always deliver, and I always get paid.”

Dean seemed to take forever to get a hold on a weapon, driving Sam to keep they guy talking.

“Why should we take the job? There’s no guarantee we’ll make it out alive. If it were simple, you could just get it yourself.”

That giggle, accompanied by a chiding finger. “More than I pretty face, I see. But still woefully ignorant. The Goblin King’s magic drains my powers, unless I seek his castle by way of his labyrinth. I do not have time for such things; I am a very busy man.”

“A labyrinth?” Dean chimed in. “And goblins? Really? What fairy tale dance are we doing?”

There was a scoff, and then they saw the demon twiddling one of Dean’s daggers in one hand, tossing the orb to them with the other. Sam caught it, and the image of a snowy owl flashed inside.

“Oh, when you work with Rumplestiltskin, never count on fairies.”


	3. Ziggy Stardust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, the title's not a Journey song, but I couldn't resist.

“So, you’re really Rumplestiltskin? Like, _Rumplestiltskin_ Rumplestiltskin. The guy that steals babies.”

“Ah, glad to hear I’m popular even in the land without magic.”

Dean questioned their “client” while Sam inspected their new bag of goodies. He pulled out all sorts of powders and potions, reading each label to make heads or tails of them. Dean appreciated the ease of having everything they need in a bottle, but it felt weird to know they were going into battle without heavier tools. But Rumplestiltskin told them conventional weapons would not do them much good, but that did not stop them from packing a little heat just in case. Speaking of which, the little freak played around with one of the sidearms.

“Shiny,” Rumplestiltskin muttered, running his fingers along the gun like a creepy spider. “Destructive. I will keep this one.”

“Whatever,” said Dean. Sam sneezed, and Dean turned to see that Sam was up to his ears in bunnies. The older brother rolled his eyes, and returned to the task at hand; getting information.

“Y’know, you haven’t told us yet what we’re looking for.”

“Oh, Jareth will know why you’re there. And he will oblige as long as you solve the labyrinth.”

“And how can you be sure we will solve it?”

The not-demon pointed to the crystal ball in Dean’s hand. “Do as you’re told. I’m sure that cannot be too hard for such an evolved being as yourself.”

Apparently the little guy enjoyed being cryptic, so he just left it at that. Sam ushered the bunny rabbits out the door, his lanky body looking ridiculous bent over.

“So how many poor mooks have you sent?”

“You are the first mooks.”

The bunnies were gone, but then they multiplied in the hall. Little squeaks carried into the room, adding to the air of spooky. Rumplestiltskin sent the critters away with a wave of his hand, a trick that was starting to get on Dean’s nerves.

“Well, why haven’t you hired anyone else? Were you expecting us to drop out of the sky?”

“Don’t ask questions to which you don’t want answers.” The not-demon shook his finger at him, and then added a ball of gold yarn to the bag, the last item; he called it a down payment. He waved them both over to the center of the room, ready to get this mission started.

“Now, remember boys, all you have to do is solve the labyrinth, and do not talk to Jareth until you reach his castle. He likes to read everything as a challenge, and never takes no for an answer.”

“Great,” said Sam, a white rabbit peeking out of his jacket pocket. “How’re we getting there?”

Rumplestiltskin turned to Dean, laying a hand on the much taller shoulder.

“Get rid of your brother.”

“Come again?” He knew he couldn’t trust this guy. The messed-up complexion, and rotten teeth always equaled bad news.

“Jareth also trades in children. Specifically, little brothers. You have to wish for the Goblin King to take him. Once he has vanished, call on him to bring the precious bundle back. That simple.

“And little-” he stretched his neck to look at his brother, “-Sam. Once taken, you will find yourself in the castle. Roam around until you find a dungeon, and protect what you find.”

Having nothing left to say, apparently, he dumped the boys in a forest alone, with the bag and three new rabbits.

* * *

“You have her hair,” said the Goblin King. He ran his fingers through Belle’s brown curls, amusing himself by watching them flow down her back. “Soft, and dark. Mark of a true queen.”

“You’ve told me this before, Jareth. A girl gets bored after being compared to the moon too many times.”

Seven days. Seven days trapped in her fancy cage. She had been reading in one of the gardens, admiring a gorgeous owl watching her in the trees. Next thing she knew, a handsome man in tight-fitting breeches stole her, brought her to this horrifying place of goblins, swamps, and angry black chickens. Jareth visited her every day, attempting to woo her with flattery and promises that all her dreams could come true, just as long as she submit. Vow to live as his devoted slave. But she already made that deal, and she would be damned to give another man control of her life.

Belle had tried to run, but magic kept her in this room. The only door appeared when opened from the outside, and his subjects would never dare help her, lest they invite their master’s wrath. The room was beautiful: four-poster bed with silk sheets, a wide bathtub a girl would die for, and bookcases made the four walls. But if she did not get out of here soon, she would have to take drastic measures.

Jareth had her arm, and she took it back before he could plant a kiss on her wrist. He grew more aggressive day by day, his patience growing thinner. She knew she was a replacement for somebody, someone that he could not touch by his own rules. He liked to hear himself talk, and was happy to tell her anything as long as that meant she was paying attention to him.

“How did your Sarah escape? Why did you let her go?” Mention of his lost love usually kept him docile, suddenly lost in melancholy.

“The only way anyone can. I underestimated her. My queen was too strong...”

He shot up, looking away from her. He seemed to be listening...

“Well, my darling,” he said, the royal confidence rising back to the surface. “Someone is in need of my services. Would you like a child, my pet? Someone to play with? Don’t wait up.”

A warm, heavy wind billowed throughout the room. Sparkling dust clouded her vision, and she could see nothing, but heard a soothing owl hoot. And then the wind stopped, and he was gone.

But something... some _one_ took his place.

* * *

Dean shouted to the trees, his panic evident. “I said bring my brother back you son of a bitch!”

He grew pissed off at the silence, ready to pack it in and call on Rumplestiltskin (just had to say his freaking name three times; what kind of rules did this place have?) when a wind blew at his back, and a deep voice answered him from behind.

“Why does no one ever call me to thank me? All I do is give them what they ask.”

Dean turned slowly, and almost laughed out loud. The dude was not was he expected. When he heard Goblin King, he was thinking of something Tolkein-ish, not a throwback to Glam Rock.

“You, uh,” he chuckled, “you’re Jareth?”

“At your ungrateful service. I know what you’re going to ask me, but I’m afraid I cannot oblige. Your brother is mine, waiting in my castle. He is quite strapping, and will make an excellent goblin.”

“But... but you’re supposed to let me solve the labyrinth!”

Jareth’s eyes widened, quiet rage lurking in their depths. “Who told you that,” he asked softly, almost a whisper. But Dean did not answer, just waited.

But then in a blink of an eye, Jareth oozed charm. “If you are certain. To take back your brother, you must solve my labyrinth. You have thirteen hours.”

“Deal.”


	4. Chain Reaction

This was some rescue attempt.

Jareth flashed Sam to the castle, and the hunter found something he did not expect.

A girl. A very pretty girl.

She reclined on a bed, wearing a thin dress of pale blue silks, that twirled around her like mist, and she ran to him almost as soon as he arrived. She reached out to him, putting her hands on him, but he held her back. He learned a long time ago to not trust a pretty face by sight. The prettier, the more deadly.

Looking for a way out, he only saw books. Books, upon books, upon books, but not a single door. The girl stepped away, but she still hovered nearby, looking terrified. Her mouth opened in a small pout, and her cheeks were tear-stained. Normally, that still wouldn’t be enough to convince him, but she projected innocence and caring, drawing him to her like a chick to its mother.

“Are you alright?” she asked him. Australian? Perhaps she was also a captive.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I mean, what about you, what are you doing here?”

“I imagine the same as you.” She poured a glass of water from an ornate pitcher - everything in this room looked expensive, and made from either marble or mahogany.

Handing him the glass, she offered a small smile, biting her lip. “I’m Belle. Of Avonlea.”

“Sam Winchester. From Kansas.” He tried not to think of how hard Dean would be laughing right now.

She giggled, and his face felt hot. “Well, that’s a mouthful. But not as unique as Rumplestiltskin.”

“Wait, _Rumplestiltskin_?”

She nodded, and he mentally played with the possibility that...

“No, way,” he whispered, mostly to himself. But monsters could have daughters. Or maybe that monster’s own damsel in distress got poached by someone else. Or just a coincidence; that name was number one on the list of weird. But whether or not she was the “item” he was meant to find, she was coming back with him.

“Well, Belle,” he said. “I’ve actually been hired by a Rumplestiltskin to look for something. Do you know of a dungeon, or a... perhaps a trophy room? Somewhere Jareth would keep something precious.”

Belle bit her lip again, and he tried not to stare, but she was very beautiful.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Sam Winchester,” She said apologetically, fluttering those long eyelashes. “Ever since I’ve been brought here, I’ve not left this room. And the door only opens from the outside.”

Like he said; some freakin’ rescue.

* * *

 

“...in the rules! And I should warn you that one of us always tells the truth, and one of us always lies. That's in the rules too. He _always_ lies.”

“You, fiend! Don’t listen to him, sonny! I always tell the truth, and _he_ always lies!”

“See? He denies it! Such a _lie_.”

Dean threw a rock at one of their shields. “Alright! Enough, damn it!”

He needed Sam for crap like this; riddles and such. He might have read a book or two in his day, but nothing of the fantasy variety. And his contact with mystical creatures like goblins, fairies and dwarves was pretty minimal. This had already been a hell of a day, but so far everything he faced stood well within the realm of his expertise. Just had to behead some red monkeys, and shoot his way around a few garden gnomes, and everything went smoothly. Except for the fact that he had no idea where he was, or if he was making any progress. The damn place was a... well, a freakin’ labyrinth, and it seemed to make up its own rules as he went along. Some walls were walls, some trees were walls, and some doors were walls, and yet some walls could be doors.

And right now, these two chattering guards stood between him and Sammy. But he only had eight hours left, and he could be spending that time solving the riddle alone.

“Alright Winchester, let’s think this out. Two doors. Only one leads to the castle. You’ve questioned maybe a million people in your life, you gotta know by now how to tell if someone is telling the truth.”

He only had one interrogation method that he would love to use, but the scaly son of a bitch told him that wouldn’t work here. Magic ruled in these parts, while brute force amounted to nothing.

Then again... No one could ever accuse Dean of following the rules.

He stood real close to the guard on the left, and placed his gun directly on its schnoz. As soon as he cocked it, the fuzzy bastard trembled.

“See this? This is one of my favorite toys. If I pull this trigger, a little piece of hot metal will shoot through your skull at a speed unseen by the naked eye, and your brains will be splattered all over the place.

“Now, tell me something, because I’m damn curious. If I pull this trigger, will you die?”

The guard was in tears, his hands flailing. “No!” He screamed, but his eyes betrayed him. “No, I won’t die!”

“Glad to hear it.”

* * *

 

Belle informed Sam Winchester that Jareth’s little servants only entered to deliver meals; their master ordered for Belle to be left undisturbed. She also knew that no one stood guard, because she truly had no way out. Beyond her only window was a mile-long drop into a boiling stream, marking that off their list of ideas.

The door opened by way of the bookcases. Each slid open randomly, making it harder to plan their escape. Her rescuer (not that he knew it; she had yet to tell him) paced the room, running his hands through his long hair.

“Ever tried looking for trap doors?” he asked.

“Yes, I have. There is one, but it is an oubliette. Jareth told me he has hundreds in the castle, and thousands more in the kingdom.”

She had been stroking a little rabbit in her lap, and was surprised to find she now had four. There was movement under her skirts, and she lifted them to find four more.

“What in the world? Where did all of these come from?”

“Hell if I know!” Sam threw his hands up, and kept pacing. "I opened something Rumplestiltskin gave me for this mission, and now I can’t get rid of them.”

Rumplestiltskin... That man had a purpose behind everything. He might play his little jokes, but he never played when it came to magic. It always came with a price, and no one more than he made her realize the truth in that.

So why would he send Sam Winchester and his brother on a mission with rabbits that liked to multiply in an instant?

 “Um, Sam Winchester?”

“Sam, just call me Sam.”

“Sam, was anything written on what he gave you? About the rabbits.”

“It just said ‘Bait.’ But I don’t see how that’s going to help us, not much hunting to do. And the only other thing I’ve got is a vial of stuff called ‘Awake.’”

She continued her petting, and this time she watched as the rabbit split in two, and then again as she kept petting. They needed to be touched to multiply.

“Sam! Quick, help me, the goblins should be coming with dinner any minute. Pet the rabbits!”


End file.
